Dreams
by GW Katrina
Summary: Boromir's fate is not what the others of the Fellowship believe it to be. *WARNING* Slash


Dark. Cold. A soft voice drifts through the darkness, singing in strange words, leaving behind warmth.  
When he was warm again, it faded away.  
  
***  
  
The singing rose again. This time he recognized a few words, but most of them were in that strange  
tongue.  
  
He felt heavy, as if wrapped in a thick blanket. A numbness covered him, muting everything. Everything  
except for a horrible thirst.  
  
"Drink."  
  
It was the person who had been singing. A slim but strong hand held his head up as a cup was pressed  
against his lips. Cool, clean water trickled into his mouth.  
  
Once he had drunk the entire cup, little by little, the hand gently laid his head back on the soft pillow.  
"Sleep."  
  
He did.  
  
***  
  
His dreams were troubled, images of death and blood in them. Slowly, those dreams faded.  
  
"You're awake. Good."  
  
The voice was soft, almost musical. Boromir opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a pair of large,  
impossibly blue eyes. "Frodo?"  
  
Those eyes closed, and soft laughter danced over his skin. Once the pull of the eyes was gone, Boromir  
realized he was looking at a woman. A beautiful young woman in grey robes.  
  
Still feeling incredibly heavy, Boromir tried to figure out what was going on. "Who are you?" he asked,  
confused. "Where am I?" The last thing he remembered was . . .   
  
Fighting the orcs. Being pierced by arrows and falling. Talking to Aragorn, then everything going black.  
  
As if sensing his rising panic, the woman placed her hand on his chest. "Fear not, for you are safe. This  
is a house of healing. You were every badly injured. My name is Este. You, Boromir, are very lucky to  
be alive."  
  
Boromir was tired, and even as she spoke, he felt himself sliding back into sleep.  
  
"The halflings?" he mumbled, fighting off the siren call of oblivion until he had news of his lovers.  
  
"They are fine," said the musical voice. "The sooner you heal, the sooner you will see them. Rest."  
  
He could resist no longer, and Boromir slid back into the dark warmth of sleep.  
  
***  
  
/He was on watch. An important job, but his eyes kept wandering to the pile of bodies near the fire. It  
was still a pretty picture to see the four halflings, hobbits, they wanted to be called hobbits, in a large  
pile. Every night they would weave around each other, a mass of curls and furry feet.  
  
It wasn't a sight he was able to see ever often anymore. Pippin and Merry had ambushed him and told  
him of their feelings. Then acted upon them. Once that had happened, he had ended up as a part of the  
pile. His lovers had curled up around him, and Frodo and Sam had followed. The others were amused  
the first time they had woke to that sight. Boromir, the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor, had four  
hobbits wrapped so tightly around him he couldn't move.  
  
That's why it was so amazing when he woke Sam for his watch. The hobbit wiggled right out of the pile,  
easily and without disturbing the others. As Boromir laid down, he was almost instantly wrapped by  
Merry and Pippin, who never fully woke up. It took a few minutes for Frodo to follow suit, but soon  
three hobbits had latched onto Boromir.  
  
It was in this bundle of warmth that he fell asleep in./  
  
***  
  
"He's dreaming about them."  
  
Este looked at her husband with a smile. "He loves them. They love him. Of course he's dreaming of  
them."  
  
Wrapping his arms around the grey clad woman, Irmo kissed his wife's cheek. "This is the most you've  
interfered in years," he said, his large, dark eyes on Boromir. "The first time was the birthing of the little  
one, and now this one. Why this one?"  
  
Snuggling into her husband's embrace, Este's smile softened. "He loves them, they love him. I love  
them. They will go through so much, have gone through so much. If I can make them happy, then why  
not?"  
  
"No reason." He placed his chin on her shoulder, both watching the sleeping man. "You make such a  
wonderful mother. You, Nienna, and Nessa. All of you care so much for these little ones. I sometimes  
wish we would have our own littles."  
"Not yet. Soon, though. Soon."  
  
On the bed, the healing man shifted. A grimace crossed his face, then he relaxed once more.  
  
Black eyes blinked. "What are you going to do with him? You can't keep him here for long."  
  
Este rolled her eyes. "He's not a pet, Irmo. The only reason he is here is so I can keep an eye on him.  
Poor man was actually seconds from death."  
  
"'Poor man?' May I remind you, dear one, he did try to steal the Ring."  
  
A sigh. "I know. However, you are forgetting that he woke from the foul trance he was in and  
attempted to save those he loves." She softly kissed her husband. "Have no worries, my heart. Once he  
has healed enough, I shall return him. Perhaps leave him in the care of that half-elf, Elrond." She  
frowned, going over the possibilities. "It bears thinking on."  
  
With a final kiss, Irmo rose. "Then I shall take my leave of you. Is there anything I can do for you?"  
  
Este smiled. Her mate was so sweet. "Bless them with happy dreams. All of them. They need to have  
some light in this time of darkness."  
  
"All right. May your patient grow healthy quickly. Even their dreams will pale to reality when he is  
returned to them." Irmo vanished.  
  
"Indeed," murmured Este, picking up her book once more, waiting for Boromir to wake again.  
  
***  
  
Sleep fell away once more. As he opened his eyes, Boromir looked at the room he was in. It reminded  
him greatly of the elvish city of Rivendell. The walls were barely there, and he could see large trees and  
mist from his bed.  
  
Curled up in a chair next to him was the woman, her eyes on him, smiling as he looked around with  
wonder. Sunlight danced over her hair, the color of polished maple. Her skin was pale, almost as light  
as the elf, Legolas, he had traveled with.  
  
"I am happy to see you awake, good warrior. Your injuries were such that I feared for your mind." She  
laid aside the book she held and rose, gracefully settling on the bed itself.  
  
Boromir searched his memory, but failed to draw forth his tender's name. "Forgive me, Lady, I seem to  
have forgotten your name. I remember that you have kept me from death, and that we spoke before,  
but I have no memory of your name."  
  
"Still, better than I expected," she praised. "Do not feel ashamed, for you took a grievous injury to your  
head, and remembering may be difficult for a while. My name is Este."  
  
Something about that name tickled a distant memory, but Boromir was still too weak to catch it.  
  
"Este. A familiar name. A fair name, one that matches you well." His eyes traveled the room once more.  
"Please, milady, where are we?"  
  
"This is my house of healing. The land is that of my husband." She paused, looking at Boromir oddly as  
if she could read his soul. "How do you feel?"  
  
Not fully satisfied with her answer, Boromir took a moment to give himself the once-over. "Tired, Lady  
Este. My chest feels as if I have been kicked by a horse, and there is an ache in my head, a throbbing in  
time with my heart. I feel as if a heavy blanket is over me, my limbs do not wish to move such a  
weight."  
  
Este nodded. "You were hit by three orc arrows. Those caused you chest injury. While you were being  
brought here, the boat overturned, and you head was knocked against an underwater rock. Your  
heaviness of limb and headache are from that."  
  
Blinking, Boromir tried to remember any of the trip to this place. He could not.  
  
"Do you think your stomach would accept some broth? You have had nothing but water and doctored  
wine since you've arrived."  
  
He slowly nodded, wincing slightly as the pain in his head increased. "All right," Este said, rising from  
the bed. "I will return."  
  
When she returned, she held the cup of warm broth as Boromir slowly sipped it. Halfway through the  
cup, he fell asleep once again. Este placed the broth on the nearby table and picked up her book. Time  
for her to watch again.  
  
***  
  
Irmo joined his wife once more.  
  
"Their dreams have been blessed," he told her, settling on the floor, leaning against her legs. "I was  
thinking, dear heart, they will know this grief again, far too soon. Even if they all survive this war."  
  
It took a moment, but Este realized what Irmo meant. "He has so little time left." Forty or fifty their  
years left. Merry most likely has another sixty or seventy, and Pippin another ten on that. "They will lose  
him to his own mortality," she whispered. Hand reaching for her mate's, Este thought about it. She  
seemed to be doing that quite frequently around this man. "I'll speak to Vana soon," she decided out  
loud. "Maybe she might help."  
  
Eyebrows the color of jet rose. "You would grant such a gift?"  
  
"Only a bit," she said absently. "Maybe grant him a younger body, with the same outer form."  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
"So it would not be too much a shock for them. Merely freeze his appearance until his true age caught  
up with it once more."  
  
Nodding, Irmo brought his wife's hand to his lips. Planting a soft kiss on her palm, he stood. "I'll return  
later, Este. Many things are going on, and a Dreammaster's work is never done."  
  
She smiled. "Of course. I will talk to Vana soon, and see what we can do."  
  
Her husband left. She stared into space, thoughts inwards as she worked out the details of her plan.  
  
***  
  
/His arms wrapped around them, holding them tight. All three traded kissed and crushing hugs.  
  
"We thought you were dead," Pippin cried.  
  
With the deep laugh they had heard so little of, Boromir pulled his lovers to him. "Nay! I hold you in my  
arms, and I shall convince you more tonight. Now...." A gentle smile. "For now, I am content to hold  
you."  
  
He could feel his heart swell. Boromir was alive! Alive and far happier than he had been for most of  
their long journey.  
  
All three were alive and safe, and he thanked every god who would listen./  
  
Merry's eyes opened, tears spilling from them when he realized it was just a dream.  
  
Next to him, Pippin whimpered. Tears also ran from his eyes.  
  
Curling up around his lover, Merry kissed away the tears before they fell of the soft moss that was their  
bed. That was all the shoulder Pippin needed, breaking down and sobbing his heart out. Their position  
was the reverse of one earlier, when it had been Merry who lost control.  
  
"I miss him," sniffed Pippin, as he finally gained some control. "I miss him so much."  
  
"As do I," Merry whispered. "As do I."  
  
In the room Treebeard had provided, two small hobbits mourned for their lost love.  
  
***  
  
Carefully, very carefully, Este measured three drops of fiery red liquid into the glass of water. There  
was a spark, then the red vanished. Sniffing it, Este was convinced that Boromir would never detect it.  
  
"You should ask what he wants before you do this." Vana pointed out, green eyes sparkling. With her  
red hair and pale skin, she looked almost frail, but one should never underestimate the power that laid  
within her.  
  
A nod from Este. "I should, but I won't. He doesn't know who I am, not really. If I ask, it will panic  
him, and undo a great deal of work that I've done so far. Therefore, I won't ask."   
  
Shaking her head, Vana only laughed. "Hey, it's your choice. Let me know how it works."  
  
"All right."  
  
Soon, Este was back in the room that housed Boromir. The man stirred restlessly, sweat running down  
his face. As bad as he looked, Este was not worried. Healing took a great deal of energy from a  
person, and sometimes that was visible. Still, it gave her an unlooked for chance.  
  
"Boromir," she whispered, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. "Drink."  
  
Thirsty, hot, and only half-awake, he did as she asked, draining the cup. Holding her breath, Este  
slowly released it when she saw that it was doing exactly what she had wanted. There was little  
outward change, but internally, Boromir was younger. Scar tissue under the skin had vanished, a few  
wrinkles vanished, and Boromir had the body of a twenty year old. His appearance would remain as it  
was until he had once again reached the age of forty, then it would continue to age.  
  
As if summoned by the power surged, Irmo appeared. "You have done it?" he asked, coming to stand  
next to his wife. She nodded.  
  
"It has had an unexpected effect, however," she said. "It has strengthen his body. I believe I will send  
him to the house of Elrond now. There he can finish healing, and I'm sure that household will travel to  
Gondor when the war is over." A wicked grin crossed Este's face. "Besides, he can talk to Bilbo and  
gain many interesting stories over his lovers."  
  
"You have such a wicked mind, love," said Irmo, a similar smile on his face.  
  
"Let us take him to Rivendell then."  
  
All three faded from the house of healing, one unaware a new chapter of his life had just begun.  
  
The End 


End file.
